Man In The Mirror
by fool202
Summary: "I couldn't find it in myself to feel the way I used to about my family. Even my father only inspired apathy in my heart. What had the Thalmor done? Why could I no longer recognize my own reflection?" MENTIONS OF TORTURE AND SEX BETWEEN MEN.
1. Chapter 1

**It's advised that you read the story before this called "Pyrophobia". If you haven't proceed at your own risk. You'll probably be lost forever in the confusion.**

**Man In The Mirror**

The room is silent as the man approaches. Ulfric Stormcloak, the future High King of Skyrim, sits comfortably on his throne. He is not afraid of the stranger, nor any other threat through the four years since the war had turned in favor of his army. A man requesting an audience with the Jarl walks nearer to him, casting nervous looks around, his eyes pausing for a moment on a strange statue next to the throne: a Nord boy with a painted face and blue eyes, his dark brown hair falling to the middle of his back. He isn't dressed as the other soldiers, and instead wears a fitted armor made of dragon scales and a fox hide. If the man hadn't been able to see that the statue wasn't moving in the slightest, he would've thought it was another guard.

"What is your business here?" Ulfric asks, tilting his chin up and leaning forward.

"I have a message from General Tullius," The man says plainly, staring into the Jarl's eyes.

Ulfric quirks an eyebrow, "What would that be?"

The movements in the next moments are too quick for the eye to follow. In the first moment, the man pulls out a knife and holds it under Ulfric's chin. The Jarl, however, looks passively at the weapon before the man lowers it slowly, feeling a blade on his own throat.

There is a low growl in the man's ear. It is only then that he realizes that the statue is no longer standing proudly by the Jarl's throne, but is holding the knife to his neck. He feels chipped claws from the free hand of his attacker digging into his skin, breaking it easily and causing streams of red to erupt and drain down, across his chest.

He hears a chuckle from the Jarl, "Very good reflexes, Kit."

The knife jerks across his skin, and he is released. He falls to his knees, looking up at the smiling face of the Jarl he'd tried to kill. His last sight is Ulfric commending his young guardian, and a fanged smile aimed at him. Then there is darkness, and the room disappears.

BREAK

"A job well done," Ulfric said, patting me on the shoulder. I still had my fangs bared at the assassin as he died on the floor, but one of the guards came and took the body out as soon as he stopped moving. "I never have to worry with you around."

I nodded. It had been four years since I'd joined my Jarl's army, but my speech had never really recovered. I hadn't spoken since reciting my oath.

Despite my Jarl's praising of my abilities, my heart refused to melt. I could feel my old self locked up somewhere beneath the layers of death and torture, but beating on the walls of ice hadn't helped him. If it weren't for the short moments of clarity I had, looking in my mirror and momentarily recognizing my own reflection in the glass, I would think my old self had died off completely.

I looked at my Jarl with emotionless eyes, brushing back my long hair as it got in the way of my eyes. He nodded, looking rather pleased with my work, and excused me.

"You may retire for the night, Kit. We'll call you if you're needed."

I won't be. The body of the assassin will be carried out of the city, and there won't be another attack. Even if someone is stupid enough to try and kill the Jarl, his associates are smart enough to see a demonstration when they see it.

I nodded, bowing to my Jarl before I turned away. As I walked to the steps, I was saluted by the surrounding guards. They slammed their fists into the hearts of their armor and muttered "Dovahkiin" as I passed. When I reached the steps I saluted the captain lazily and walked the rest of the way to the first landing. Upon leaving the sight of my superiors and soldiers, my balance shifted and I fell in front of the door of my bed chamber. I hefted myself to the door knob and entered the room, quickly shutting out the world before anyone could see me.

I laid on the floor of my bedroom, not even bothering to pull myself onto the bed. I looked up at the ceiling, wishing I could see outside. I couldn't count the days since I'd been outside—I hadn't left since my last Stormcloak quest, and that had been months before.

I sighed and crawled to my bed, resigning to my usual fate of leg failure when my Jarl wasn't watching. As soon as I closed my eyes, exhaustion swept over me and I was dead to the world in moments.

Then the nightmare, the one I have had every night since my death, rears its ugly head to ruin my dreamless slumber.

_I stood at the foot of a hill, looking on to the horizon as the sun set. The sky turned blood red and the moons came out, shining down and making the ground below me turn silver. I looked up at the raised land before me to see what I always have in this dream: six large stakes protruding from the ground, each holding someone I loved. There was Mother and Father in the foreground, telling me that it wasn't worth the sacrifice—to save the others before them. Then there was Gerdur, Hod, and Frodnar in a bunched up second row. Hod was silent, his head bowed in misery and shame that he couldn't help his family. Gerdur had tears rolling down her face, struggling to free herself and reach her child, who was crying for her and for me to save him._

_And then, behind all the rest, tied to the tallest stake, was Ralof. He didn't beg for me to save the others, nor did he beg that I save him. He didn't even worry over his sister or her family. He watched me with dark, careful eyes, before he took his judgment. Before he said the words that would haunt me forever._

"_I loved you Godrael," He whispered. But I could hear it, over the begging and the crying, I could hear it. "I loved you, and you left me to die."_

_There are no tears from him, just the one solitary truth that he repeats over and over. "I loved you."_

"_Why didn't you tell me before?" I yelled. "I didn't know! I would've done something, but I didn't know! You didn't tell me until I was fucking dead inside!"_

_He looked me in the eyes, "I loved you."_

_I looked him in the eyes, my reply weak and shaking, "I didn't know."_

"Dovahkiin?"

Thankfully, I'm awoken by a fellow soldier. I sat up in bed shakily and he hurried from the door to help me up.

"He didn't give a name," The soldier said, his hand on my shoulder for support. "But he looked rather young to be travelling by himself, especially since the rebellion is in full swing."

I thought about anyone young—or, younger than me, at twenty-two—that would have the guts to travel across a warring nation just to see me.

"There was no escort," He said. "And no cart. He claims to have walked from…" The soldier made an irritated noise. "I can't remember. I just know whatever it was is very divided. That's why we had trouble believing him when he said he was on our side."

It couldn't be Lotus or Citin. They were both from across the Skyrim border and wouldn't know much of anything about the war. They wouldn't have known to say they were with the Stormcloaks, or what the names of any villages were.

"Would you like me to send him in or would you like to get dressed first?"

I didn't trust my legs, so I waved for him to send in the guest. The soldier saluted me and turned away, opening the door.

"He'll see you now." The soldier left, and I looked ahead without turning towards the door. The sound of it shutting told me that I'd been left alone with whoever it was.

"Uncle Godrael?" Frodnar asked, his voice deeper than I remembered. I turned to him and noticed that, indeed, he had changed in the last four years. He was much taller and a bit thicker. His arms weren't as well-muscled as a regular adult man's, but he was still a child. His face bored a scar on the left cheek and his eyes looked wiser than I could've imagined.

I nodded.

"Godrael," He sighed in relief and collapsed beside my bed. "I've been searching all over. It wasn't until a few days ago that I heard that the Jarl had the Dragonborn as his personal guard. I came here as quickly as I could…But I had to tell the soldiers over and over for hours that I was on their side before they let me through."

"The…" My voice broke in disuse, my throat denying me proper speech for neglecting it for so long. "Jarl…Under-r…P-Prote-ection…"

"Uncle, you shouldn't speak if it hurts you that much," Frodnar said, clutching my arm and staring at me with worried eyes.

"F-i-ine," I muttered. "I'll be…Be-ee…F-f-fine…"

"Godrael, please," He put a slight pressure on my shoulder and laid me back on the bed gently. "You should lie down. You look tired."

"Al-lways…"

Frodnar smiled, "You always look tired?" I nodded and he chuckled. "I don't doubt it."

Suddenly, he frowned, and reached up to touch my hair, "You still have the grey streak…"

"Dovahkiin?" There was a knock at the door and Frodnar jumped. "Are you all right?"

Then, a distant scorning, "He doesn't talk, you bumbling idiot. How's he gonna answer you?"

"We're fine!" Frodnar yelled. I let out a laugh, which came out as more of a hiss. This seemed to please my soldiers, as they left, their footsteps and arguing echoing down the hall.

"So," Frodnar pressed his cheek to my mattress, drawing nonsense patterns into the quilt. "Do they take good care of you here?"

"Thi-…" I coughed. "So…"

"Think so?" He asked. "I bet they don't make stew like Ma does. Or sew like her. Or make you laugh like Da or Uncle Ralof."

Frodnar frowned and I gave him a sad smile, "Miss th-a-at…All…M-uch…"

"If you miss it so much, why don't you come back?"

I coughed again, "N-not the same…M-me. W-ou-ouldn't be f-fair to m-m-make you a-a-ll…"

"But we love you, Godrael," Frodnar said quietly. "We don't mind if you changed. That's the thing with family, you're kind of stuck with us forever. Uncle Ralof said he even wanted to marry you so he could take care of you."

Before I could let out another mangled answer, my door was forced open, a flustered soldier on the other side.

"Dovahkiin," He panted. "There's an attack…"

"Is it the Imperials?" Frodnar asked, standing at the ready and putting a hand on the sword strapped to his back.

"It's a dragon," The soldier said. "We've tried to subdue it…But it killed twenty of our men in one blow."

I got up and pulled on my armor, pulling back Frodnar when he tried to follow the soldier out.

"Y-You…Stay-ay. Da-angerous."

"I can handle it!" He argued. I shook my head and pulled one of the soldiers into the room.

"Lo-ook after…H-i-im. He…Doesn't le-eav-ve."

She looked slightly surprised at my broken and stuttering voice, which she had never heard before, but agreed to make sure that Frodnar stayed in the room. I rushed out, axe in hand, beside my soldiers. Only when we'd left the safe walls of the city behind did I see the dragon.

It was bigger than any other dragon I'd fought before. It was bronze in color and, from what I saw of the ground and fallen men, had breathed both fire and ice over the land. It barred its teeth and growled, moving closer to us before taking off into the sky.

"Watch out!" It took only a moment for me to realize to whom the warning was directed at. Soon enough, I was on the ground, a dragon above me and glaring into my eyes. I looked right back, no longer fearing death after I'd felt it once. The dragon didn't even notice my hand as it gripped a dagger until the blade was buried in its neck.

The beast shrieked, flailing around as I moved quickly to end it and keep more of my men from being hurt. I jumped on its neck, still thrashing, and grabbed my axe from my back. I locked my legs around the dragon's neck and gripped my weapon with both hands, bringing it down with all my strength to break through its skull. There was another horrifying sound from its throat and with all the strength the beast had left, it tossed me off of its neck and into the air. I didn't have time to shout or scream before I hit the ground with a sickening thud. Just as the edges of my vision went black, I heard the shout of a familiar voice that should've been nowhere near me.

And the world went dark.

END

**If anyone wants to know when I update, or any extra tidbits of information, there is an author update on my profile. I only usually put anything on there if something happens, like a delay on the next chapter or thoughts about the story and how it moves on.**


	2. Chapter 2

**For those who don't read my updates, please read the message at the end of this chapter. It will be posted in every chapter until the end of this story. Thank you.**

**Man In The Mirror**

The first things I heard as I slowly came to consciousness was the arguing of my soldiers. Yvette was fighting with my Housecarl, Affe, about what care I needed after suffering such "horrible injuries". Both of them were silenced by a strong voice saying he'd take care of me. I heard the smaller voice of Frodnar, across the room, order them all out. Surprisingly, they all obeyed, their voices echoing in the room, the halls, before disappearing completely.

I opened my eyes when I felt someone carding their fingers through my hair and was met with dark, sad eyes.

"Morning, Godrael."

I searched the pale face above me without recognizing the features. Frodnar walked to the other side of my bed and I looked at him. He and the blonde man looked strangely alike.

"Godrael," Frodnar said. "…Do you even recognize him?"

"N-N…No." I couldn't say that I did remember him, even if his voice sounded so familiar.

"It's Uncle Ralof, Godrael," Frodnar told me, pointing to the blonde man. "You remember him. You_ have _to remember him!"

"I…I…" I coughed harshly, my attempts at speaking scratching and tearing at my throat. The blonde man supported my back through the fit until I calmed down. He guided me gently to the mattress and looked at Frodnar.

"Maybe we shouldn't be talking to him. He can't talk well."

"There was a medic here when he was asleep," Frodnar said. "She said that nothing was wrong with his throat, it's just that he hasn't used his voice in so long that he isn't used to it. If he keeps talking—"

"Just don't make him speak for a while," He insisted. "It hurts him to talk. Just leave it."

Frodnar nodded and the blonde man kneeled beside my bed, "Hello, Godrael."

Instead of talking, as he didn't want me to do, I waved. He laughed slightly and then cleared his throat.

"My name is Ralof. I've been your friend for many years. We've gone many places together and I was even there to see you reunited with your father…" Ralof stopped, looking as if he didn't know how to go on. "I'm not sure I can give you that again—I've looked for four years and haven't found him—but I can say that I don't plan on abandoning you again."

Then it came back to me: the nightmare I'd forgotten of Ralof on the stake. But that Ralof had said that I'd been the abandoner, not him. He'd repeated that he loved me, had wanted to care for and marry me, but I'd left him to die.

"B-ut, I-I…Le-e-eft…" I choked out. Ralof threaded his fingers into my hair and looked sadly at me.

"Godrael, you were very sick then, and you still are. You aren't the same man, and I can't say it doesn't matter to me, because it does. I'll love you no matter what, but I also want you back to the way you used to be. I let you go that day because I thought I had no choice. It wasn't until months later that I realized I could've stopped you so easily from leaving, I just didn't because you weren't the same."

Ralof took a deep breath, "I believe it when you said you could never be the same. That's something I'll never believe again."

For the next several days, I pondered Ralof. I supposed he could've stopped me, but he was just as frightened as I was. Back then, I remembered, I'd been truly scared of hurting them. Now, though, I could barely remember what it was like to feel anything. Years of being around war and soldiers and death numbs a person. I felt the old Godrael beating on the walls of my heart again, and I put a hand over the spot on my chest. The weak beat was interrupted by quick, rhythmic thumps. That was his tiny hands beating on his ice chamber.

Suddenly, the pain became so intense that I doubled-over in bed, curling up on myself and hissing weakly. Ralof rushed to me and sat me up, asking what was wrong.

"H-H-ea-ea-r…" I hissed again, another shot of pain wracking my body. I looked at Ralof, seeing the horrible fear in his eyes as I started shaking. He held me against him until the pain stopped, almost twenty minutes later. After I'd stopped shaking, Ralof still had my head on his chest and was rocking back and forth, stroking my hair and whispering calming things into my ear.

"What was that?" He breathed out, his voice shuddering in the aftermath of his terror.

"L-i-ittle G-G-od-drael…B-Bea-ts on m-my h-ea-ear...t…N-Ne-ever l-li-i-ike th-th-a-at b-be-f-ore…"

"Little Godrael?" Ralof asked, obviously confused.

"O-O-Old G-G-od-ra-a-ael…"

Ralof pulled me closer to him and I could tell that he wished just as much as me that Old Godrael would stop beating on my heart and just come out already. I wondered if I'd once loved Ralof like he seemed to love me, or if I'd always been this way. I think before the dragon attack and my injury I could remember, but now things were blurry. I couldn't think straight most days, nor could I remember much of my past. Ralof had filled me in on some things: We'd been friends as young children, I was half-Nord from my mother and half-Khajiit from my father, my mother had died, my father had been imprisoned, freed for a few days, then imprisoned again. He didn't know where my father was. I'd killed several people, including an Argonian man that had challenged my mother's honor. Ralof really and truly loved me like no one before, even proposing marriage so I'd stay in Riverwood. I'd been horribly tortured by the Thalmor (_they_, I remembered all too well). I had no siblings to his knowledge. I apparently had it in for Sabre Cats, or just feline animals in general, because he remembered seeing me hunt down a Sabre for fun and tear it head off with my bare hands. I am also, apparently, very sarcastic. Or, I used to be.

Ralof, it seems, had been watching be often and closely to know all of this. It could be that he listened intently when I talked because he loved me, or because he was a stalked from my past that I could barely remember save for a dream where he said he used to love me and frightened me to my very core, which would actually make more sense if he _was_ indeed a stalker.

"Godrael," Ralof said, pausing his hand in my hair. I looked up sleepily. "Do you feel anything at all."

"Y-Y-Yo-our h-ha-an-nd is i-in m-m-my h-ai-air…" I muttered.

Ralof laughed mirthlessly, "No, I mean do you have emotions anymore?"

I shrugged, not knowing the answer entirely myself.

"Your mother is dead," He dead-panned. "She died a horrible death from starvation at the hands of the Imperials. She died in your arms."

I looked into his eyes passively.

"Your father is most likely also dead, also killed by the Imperials. He was probably tortured by the Thalmor so severely that he cried for you to save him in his last moments before an Elf cut him open and paraded his pelt around like a hunting trophy."

I blinked.

"Your refugee village was burned down. I looked for it three years ago and found it. They'd all been killed."

I tilted my head.

Ralof sighed, "That last thing was a lie, but the other two are true, Godrael. Your mother, the woman who gave you life, is dead. Your father, your only surviving immediate family member, was probably tortured and killed by a dirty Elf. Doesn't that make you angry? Sad? Anything?"

I shook my head, "S-S-orry…"

"Don't be," Ralof pondered a moment. "Imagine being in love with someone for so long, and thinking that they love you back. You knew you loved them with your entire being, and finally you wanted to propose to them, high on a mountain top where you could proclaim it to all of Skyrim. But then they're taken from you, and beaten, and burned, and defiled. Then they're returned to you, but it's like they've been broken and just pasted together. They can't even feel anymore, and you finally propose because you think it's never too late. And they say, 'I'm not suitable for anyone anymore. I can't marry you. For your own good.' Even though you would've looked past all they've been through and tried to make them better. You would've loved them even if they couldn't love you back. How would that feel, Godrael?"

"B-B-Bad," I said, feeling my heart twinge a bit in pain. Old Godrael, slamming himself on the walls to get through.

Ralof chuckled a little at my simple answer, "That's what it felt like when you were taken by the Thalmor. I was going to propose to you on the Throat of the World. We were supposed to be happy for the rest of our pathetically short lives, but then they took you and when you came back…"

"S—" Ralof put his hand over my mouth before I could apologize.

"Don't be. It isn't your fault. It was never your fault. _I'm_ sorry. I should've said it sooner, or stopped them from taking you. I just wasn't prepared when you blurted out that you'd forced us to take you in. I'm sorry, Godrael. It's my fault, and it always has been."

I was going to reply, tell him that he shouldn't blame himself, it was no one's fault, but a burning pain went through my heart and I curled up into the fetal position again, my head throbbing in pain. A voice shot through my mind, not Ralof's nor a soldiers, but my own from so long ago.

_WAKE UP!_

I gasped, coughing hard and splattering blood on my quilt. Ralof sat, horrified and unsure of what to do until I stopped coughing and collapsed on him.

"Godrael!"

The world turned black just as I felt Ralof pick me up.

"_Godrael,"_ _My name echoed through the darkness, in my own voice. My feet landed on a solid surface far too softly to be real and I turned my head, being met with the sight of myself, several years ago, burnt and injured. He sat on the floor, a hand on his knee and a look of contempt on his face._

"_Who—?"_

"_I'm you, moron," He hissed, baring soot-blacked, whole fangs. "And you are me. A more trapped, prey-like version of me."_

"_Prey?"_

"_You ask a lot of question, you know?" He said. "You're like prey—you know nothing, and you fear everything. You don't even know when you aren't you."_

"_You don't make a lot of sense, you know?" I replied. _

"_You are not yourself. The real Godrael would've beaten the tar out of Ralof for saying anything like that."_

"_The real Godrael left a long time ago," I said._

_He scoffed, "He's there. You know he is."_

"_In my heart and my head," I told him, placing a hand over my chest. "But he can't escape. He just ends up hurting me and scaring Ralof."_

"_It a vicious cycle," He told me. "Godrael tried beating on the walls to escape, but saw that your pain made Ralof frightened. He didn't know he was causing it and just beat harder to try and get to Ralof. It won't end until you figure out how to release him."_

"_How do I do that?"_

_He blinked and threw up his arms, "Do I look like I know? I just work here, dumbass. You figure it out, I'm not your fucking spirit animal."_

"_Right," I sighed. "No hints?"_

"_None."_

"_What'll happen afterwards?"_

_He looked thoughtful, "I wouldn't say you'll be replaced by Old Godrael. You'll just revert back to him. You'll still have all these memories from the last four years and this last week with Ralof, but you'll also have your emotions back. And your other memories that you can't recall."_

"_Okay," I said. "Can I wake up?"_

"_You don't know much do you?"_

"Godrael?" There was a tap on my heart and I placed my hand over it before I even opened my eyes. I could imagine Old Godrael, healthy and handsome, sitting forlornly on the floor of his ice prison, tapping on his cage at the sound of Ralof's voice. But it did nothing to envision it—my heart remained locked.

"Are you all right?" Ralof asked. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. I couldn't find it in myself to feel the way I used to about Ralof, about my _family_. Even my father—possibly dead, maimed, both, or possibly worse—only inspired apathy in my heart. Just what had the Thalmor done to me that made me forget all of this? As I looked across the room, into the mirror, I wondered: Why could I not recognize my own reflection?

"Godrael?" Ralof said again. "Are you okay?"

One look at the man in the mirror, and the tapping inside my chest, gave me the answer. "N-No…I'm n-o-ot."

**READ THE END NOTES PLEASE**

**My friend proposed that I make an ask-blog for Godrael on Tumblr (where I'd make an account on Tumblr, people would ask me questions, and I'd reply as Godrael). I'm on the fence about the idea because I'm not sure any of my readers would be up for it. If I get some positive feedback, I'll do it.**

**TL;DR Yes or no on Ask Godrael on Tumblr?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Man In The Mirror**

While I had grown accustom to the heart pains, Ralof never got used to seeing me double-over in pain and clench my teeth to keep from screaming. Despite the pain and a medic saying it wouldn't help, I continued to drink my weight in mead. When I was drunk, speaking with Ralof became all the more easier and Old Godrael was appeased by the liquor almost as much as I was, resorting to just tapping on his walls before giving up and passing out. Drunk nights are the best, as are drunk mornings.

The only time I had a hangover was when Ralof cut me off and refused to let me have another drop until I sobered up. Then, the party's over, and I felt myself resent him a little more. I was an adult, after all. I could decide for myself what was enough.

"That's enough," He decided, taking my bottle from me. We were in my chambers, as I hadn't left them in over three weeks, and Ralof put the mead down on a table. I sat in a chair just a few feet from my bed, swaying slightly in my stupor. "You're going to kill yourself that way."

I didn't reply, just sent an insulting hand gesture his way. As usual, he didn't return it like anyone else in the world would've. Since he'd sent Frodnar home, he'd cracked down on taking care of me. While I had felt sorry for him when he'd said it was his fault I'd left, that he could've stopped me, I didn't know it meant he'd try and keep me from doing my duty and serving the Jarl. Ulfric, as it were, didn't mind. As long as there was no assassination taking place, I was free to wander the lands—and it seemed that my last killing had scared off the dim few who'd stayed behind for the last ten. I was free until I smelled another rat crawl his way up the steps.

"I'm very serious, Godrael. If you aren't going to help yourself, I'm going to do it."

"Y-You're t-ur-urning into H-Hadvar," As the days went by, I started remembering more of my past. And I remembered Hadvar's behavior in the Barrows, when he'd insisted that I was unable to help myself. I'd recanted the experience to Ralof, and he sympathized, but apparently didn't learn from the death threats I put Hadvar through to back off.

"Hadvar forced help on you when you were perfectly capable of helping yourself. You," He thumped my chest. "Are fucking ill. Whether you realize it or not, you are not in your right mind to be making decisions for yourself. Deal with it."

He turned away, busying himself with fixing up my axe. I let him be, but snuck a flask from my pants pocket, taking a quick swig and watching him.

"You have a flask in your hand," He asked, not turning. "Don't you?"

"S-So wh-what?" I asked, taking another drink. I belched and waited for the explosive reaction to my drunkenness.

"You're impossible."

I rolled my eyes. "Y-You're b-be-eing p-pa-assiv-ve a-agg-ggres-sive," I replied.

Ralof turned and, for a moment, we just stared at each other. I took a drink from my flask, he breathed. He raised an eyebrow, my cheek twitched. There was a knock on the door, and we both turned our heads at the same time. I absently took a drink from my flask as Ralof said, "Come in."

"Dovahkiin?" Yvette asked gently, opening the door and meeting my eyes. Whatever news she was delivering could not me good, as I'd never seen Yvette with such a stricken look on her face. "I have some news of the search for the Khajiit men named Darisha and Ma'keer."

"W-Wha-at *hic* i-is it?" I asked. She looked down at her boots before taking a deep breath and looking back into my face.

"When we raided the torture rooms, we found the body of two Khajiit men. Their fur was dark brown, but we couldn't look at either of their eyes," She blinked and swallowed audibly, not from disgust at what she saw or the memory—she was a strong Stormcloak soldier after all—but from fear of my actions at her next words. "They weren't there. They'd been cut out of their heads. When we found them…they'd been dead for several days. I'm very sorry, Dovahkiin."

I looked into my flask before quickly downing the rest of my mead. "Carry on," I told her, my voice more steady than she'd ever heard. She blinked again and straight her back, looking oddly at me.

"Are you all right, Dovahkiin?" She asked.

"Yes." I said. My voice did not break or waver. "Carry on with business, soldier."

She saluted me, hitting her heart with her fist, "Yes, Dovahkiin." And then she was gone, leaving Ralof and myself alone in my chambers.

"He was a good man Godrael," Ralof said. My head snapped up as I felt a great 'thud' from my heart and I stood.

"You think I don't know that?" I asked. "Do you think I don't know they were good men? Surviving the torture I couldn't and not even changing? My father said that he wasn't man enough for his wife and that he was raising a bastard child just to keep us safe, and then he _came back_ for me, even though I was the reason he was taken away in the first place. My uncle endured daily executions of people he was probably very close to and still found the strength to track me down and be fucking excited at my every word," I breathed deeply and my eyes narrowed at Ralof, who was stunned into silence by my rant. "Yes, they were good men. Don't talk to me about my own family like I didn't fucking know them."

With that, I bared my fangs at him, broken and unthreatening as they now were, and turned away from him. I walked steadily to the door and threw it open, walking across the hall to the open window and looking down at the lower ceiling beneath me. I heard Ralof yell, not knowing that there was something to break my fall, and I dropped off of the window sill. It was mere seconds before my feet hit the ceiling blow, my knees caving and forcing me to fall on my face. I didn't care, it wasn't the first time I'd done this.

"Godrael!" Ralof yelled out the window. I stood and brushed myself off.

"Shut up!" I yelled back, sending him an offensive hand gesture before hopping off the ceiling and into a snow bank beside the river.

I remained there, lying in the snow, for several hours. It was so cold out that my body did little to melt the snow around me, but I ignored the numbness of my lips and fingers as the minutes ticked by slowly. Eventually, I was unwillingly dragged into unconsciousness.

_The sight of my purgatorium was almost a second home by now. I sat down and made myself comfortable, awaiting the call of my burned self to tell me how I'd screwed up this time. Instead of the broken, brash voice of a man with a charred throat, I heard my name in a crisp, kind voice from behind me._

"_Godrael."_

_I turned to see myself, still several years ago but far past my burned state. His skin was healed and clean, his clothing mended. His eyes were clear and sober, filled with sympathy and sadness. Oddly, I didn't feel offended at his pity, but I felt more exposed and emotional._

"_They're dead."_

"_I know that," I said, my eyebrows furrowing. "I was just told that today."_

_He stepped forward, pulling me to my feet, "They're dead."_

"_I know!" I yelled. He put his hand on my shoulder meeting my eyes and taking my hand in his._

"_Father," He said. "And Ma'keer are dead. They will never come back. You are the end of our family blood. You are the sole person who can continue our ways and traditions. You are the last person of our heritage. You are tragically, terribly alone in this universe. Your family is dead. Your childhood friend was killed by your slowness in acting. Your village is most likely gone, your elderly neighbor and the children you raised and cared for from infants, dead from your selfishness. You push your only friends away. You have left a nation in chaos. And you are alone."_

_I collapsed to my knees, my forehead falling forward onto his legs. I looked down at his feet, pristine and bare, and cried on them._

"_Why?" I asked tearfully, my voice wavering. "Why am I so alone?"_

"_Because you will not share the blame," He said, placing a hand in my hair. "You shoulder it all yourself and take all of the blows. You can't survive like this, Godrael. You need help."_

"_From who?"_

"_Who do you think?" _

_I looked up, but I was not met with my own face._

Ralof stood over me, watching my face intently. He hadn't moved me from the snow, but simply touched his finger tips to my mouth.

"They're blue, you know." He said simply. "You've been out here for hours. Lucky you're half-Nord, or you'd be frozen by now."

"Yeah," I said. Ralof took his hand back, but I grabbed it before he could cross his arms, holding it in my own and looking at the sky. "My family is dead."

"I'm so sorry."

I squeezed his hand, tightening my jaw. "I'm the only person left in my bloodline."

He nodded, tightening his grip on my hand. I felt a tear slip from my eye, trailing down my cheek. It was alone on its journey into the snow, and it melted little when it got there.

"I'm alone."

Ralof tugged at my arm, pulling me up and brushing off my clothes, "You're not alone. You're just a blind moron." He smiled, guiding me inside by my fingers. He dropped my hand when we entered the main room, but gripped it again when we were out of sight. The only person who saw us enter my chambers was Yvette, and she only smiled gently and saluted us as we passed.

Ralof sat me down on my bed and closed the door, making sure the lock was in place before he turned to me. He eased off my shirt and allowed me to lay down on my side. He laid my head in his lap and curled his fingers into my hair. He threaded them through, from the roots on my head to the ends by my hips, over and over until I no longer felt the steady thumping of my heart.

"I'm so sorry," He said. "We should've looked longer. They shouldn't have left that raid after they found you. We gave them time to transfer Ma'keer and Darisha. I am so sorry, Godrael."

"It's okay," I muttered into his knee. "You didn't know. You couldn't have known."

Ralof and I stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, Ralof stroking my hair and quietly apologizing for all he'd done. A thought occurred to me.

"There's no one to continue my blood line," I said.

Ralof blinked, "Well, you know, _you_ do exist."

"Bleh," I grimaced. "Could you in all actuality see me marrying a woman and raising a child? I barely like other people's children, I couldn't imagine surviving my own spawn."

Ralof laughed, "I'm sure if you found the right girl you would love your children."

"What if it didn't want to marry a woman?" I asked, not looking at him. His hand paused in my hair.

"You don't?"

"Girls are icky."

Ralof laughed again and I chuckled myself. It felt _really_ good to laugh again.

"You're very strange, did you know that?" He asked.

"I'm strange? You're the one that proposed to me and then starts talking about me continuing the blood line. Unless there's something you aren't telling me about yourself, I don't think I'm having children of my own," I yawned. "Not such a bad thing either."

Ralof was silent for a long time, thinking and resting his hand on my side. After a few minutes, he finally spoke.

"Would you have said yes if we'd gone to the Throat of the World before?" He asked quietly, almost in a whisper.

"Of course I would have," I said, without having to even think about it. "I just thought you deserved better than a constant burden after I was rescued. And you do, despite what you think."

I heard Ralof's breath hitch, "But—"

"Ralof," I sat up, looking him in the eyes. I leaned forward, my hand resting on his knee. "I'm not a burden anymore. I can take care of myself now. I'm sure I can."

He closed the gap between us without warning, but I'd been expecting it. Ralof's fingers dug into my hair and tugged us apart a few moments later.

"So we're in this together then?" He asked, looking so hopeful and tired. I nodded.

"Until the Divines take me."


	4. Chapter 4

**Man In The Mirror**

_**Ralof**_

I woke up some time the next morning, slightly dazed and with a mild headache. The person I woke up next to, however, made up for every aching muscle and sore movement. Godrael's body was tucked neatly into my chest, his legs curled up and his back facing me. I wrapped my arms tighter around him and he shuffled deeper into the blankets.

"Godrael?" I asked quietly, pulling back the quilt to see the top of his head. "Are you awake?"

"No," He muttered back, snatching the cover from me and replacing it over him. "Ask later."

I chuckled and placed a hand on top of the bump in the covers that was his head, "Come on, you have to get up sometime."

"Later, then." He said, his voice muffled. I shrugged and was about to settle into the bed again, had Godrael's housecarl not knocked on the door.

"Dovahkiin?" Affe called from the other side of the door. Godrael groaned and burrowed out of the blankets. He reached for his trousers on the floor and answered him.

"Affe, I was having a good dream! What could you possibly want this early in the morning?" He shouted, tugging on the pants, but leaving his smallclothes and shirt on the floor.

The housecarl opened the door, his lips tightening into a straight line at the sight of us—one naked under the blankets—in bed. If I hadn't known better, I would've sworn his face was tinting a healthy shade of red.

"You have a visitor."

"Who would visit me?" Godrael asked, rolling his eyes. "We sent Frodnar home ages ago."

"It isn't the boy," Affe said. "It's a man. I'd say he might even be your elder by a couple of years. Says he's your cousin."

"I don't have a cousin. And even if I did, it would be a child of Ma'keer's. Khajiit aren't allowed in the city."

"He's a Nord, Dovahkiin. And he says that he's the son of your mother's sister."

Godrael's brow furrowed. "He's lying. My mother has no sister." Even when he knew the truth, it was obvious that he was curious as to why someone would be lying to get to him. "Send him in anyway. I'd like to sort this out myself."

Affe's mouth tightened again, "And your _guest_?"

Godrael looked over his shoulder at me, "For Divine's sake man! Put on some pants!"

"Yessir," I said, saluting him lazily. Affe turned swiftly and went out the door and I flung off the blankets.

"I think Affe has a crush on you, Ralof," Godrael laughed. "I guess I'll have to watch my back from now on."

I snorted, tugging on my own pants and undershirt of my armor. Godrael tugged at my braid and brought me closer to him. I smiled, thinking I understood his intention, but he instead raised his chin a fraction and said, "There's something in your teeth, love."

"You have no idea how much I resent you at the moment," I retorted, nevertheless running my tongue over my teeth as soon as his back was turned. Another knock at the door, and Godrael called them in.

The guest was tall, about my height, and thick. It was obvious he'd been in many fights before, from the amount of scars on his face and arms. He wore custom armor and had his blonde hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. He had a severe look on his face constantly, his dark brown eyes narrowed somewhat permanently.

"Are you Godrael?" He asked in a deep, rumbling voice that matched every aspect of his person.

"Yes. And you're my," Godrael lifted his hands, quoting with his fingers. "'cousin', are you?"

The man looked only slightly offended as he straightened up his posture, "I am. I was told to give you this when my mother passed. I've spent a week getting here, and even longer trying to track you down." He said, pulling out a neatly folded letter. Godrael took it carefully between his index and middle finger.

"Excuse me, but I was quite busy not dying and serving in the war. Sorry for your inconvenience."

"You're excused."

If they were related, I probably wouldn't doubt it. Their speaking patterns were awfully similar.

Godrael narrowed his eyes slightly at the stranger in acute interest, but turned his attention to the letter. He blinked and his mouth opened in shock.

"This is Manna's handwriting…" He muttered. I put my hand on his shoulder and the man's eyes snapped to the action. "_Dear Godrael, I have never told you about my sister, but if you are reading this, it means that she has died and her son, Lond has delivered this to you. My sister and I have never gotten along, but we agreed after he husband was killed in the rebellion and your father and uncle imprisoned, that you both should meet if we both die. Godrael, please do your best to be family to Lond, as I expect the same from him. You are all each other has. I will love you forever, Manna._"

Godrael folded the letter back and stood, looking Lond in the eyes.

"So, we're family then."

"I suppose."

"Well," Godrael sighed, popping his shoulder. "I should introduce you, then. This is Ralof."

"And who is Ralof to you?" Lond asked.

"We're engaged. He has a sister, who has a husband, and they have a child together. Since we're family, they're family to you, too."

Lond nodded, "I suppose."

"Is that all you say?" Godrael asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lond looked thoughtful for a second, "Yeah."

Godrael snorted and hit his cousin on the shoulder, "I suppose, then, that we might actually get along. I've got guard duty and Ralof's on patrol—"

"Again?" I asked.

"Yes." Godrael said. He turned back to Lond. "So you might find something to entertain yourself for a few hours."

"You're both soldiers?" He asked.

Godrael nodded, "I serve the Jarl. Ralof is usually stuck in patrols or breaking up drunken brawls in town."

Lond looked as if he was fighting not to laugh at me, "I see. It must be interesting."

Godrael shrugged, tugging on his shirt, "Not as interesting as you might think. Since Ralof came back, I've been off duty. This is actually my first day back on. My last day was sort of interesting I suppose—an attempted assassination. But that happens a lot when you're on guard for the future High King."

Lond nodded. The two began talking as Godrael got dressed. We discovered that Lond was actually three years younger than Godrael was, which made us both slightly skeptical. He assured us that if he'd wanted to lie about his age, that he would've lied the other way so as to seem more mature. Godrael had laughed and agreed.

I stayed there listening, long after they'd both forgotten I was there. It was just good to see Godrael so happy, either from having a friend or just have a blood relative after thinking he was all alone. He'd laughed with his cousin, and the sounds were so complimentary and similar, like when he and Ma'keer had laughed. When they talked it was so fluid, like when he and his father used to talk, as if they knew each other's thoughts.

Godrael was late for guard duty, but Yvette had covered for him. I was late for patrol, but no one cared. It was worth seeing Godrael's eyes shine like they had when he'd seen his uncle in the camp, or his father in the cart. I knew I'd never be able to do that for him, since I'd tried so hard to do that in the past, and Lond was the only choice he had left.

Godrael nodded to his cousin when Yvette came to collect him, as for the moment we were left alone just before Affe came to do the same with me.

"Lond, I have to say: If you hurt my Godrael, I'll have to hurt you back." I said, very seriously.

"I hadn't planned on it," Lond said. "I would have to say the same to you."

I didn't tell him that I already had, just walked past him without speaking. The only thought that occurred to me as I readied myself for Affe's speech on readiness and the importance of a patrol was, _If I hurt him any more than I already have, I'll hurt myself._


	5. Chapter 5

**Ask-blog is up and running beautifully! ask-godrael dot tumblr dot com. Ask anything!**

**Man In The Mirror**

_**Ralof**_

"I can't believe you really joined them. I thought you were just putting up a tough front to scare me. I actually thought better of you."

Balgruuf was a brave man—or just overly-foolish. To tell Godrael to his face, a Stormcloak soldier with nothing to lose and an axe in hand, that he was an idiot to join the other side of the fight was practically suicide. Godrael's face was stony, as it usually was during battle and sometime after. He blinked slowly.

"You'll pay for this. The Stormcloaks can't possibly succeed. Ulfric will spread his army thin, and what happens then? Everything falls. This isn't over, not even close."

Godrael's shoulders tensed and his jaw tightened. I feared he'd lose control and swing his weapon, effectively making sure that Balgruuf wouldn't be making such claims ever again. But his axe didn't strike the former-Jarl. Instead, Godrael raised a hand and slapped him, hard enough to leave a red mark and a few nicks from his cracked claws behind.

"Silence. No one permitted you to speak," Godrael said coldly. "You will not insult Ulfric Stormcloak and his noble cause in such a way in my presence. You're lucky that I was told not to kill you, or else I would've Shouted you to Oblivion just as I plan to do to that coward Tullius." He turned to the guards. "Make sure his family is collected safely and escorted out of Whiterun."

They saluted Godrael, "Yes, Dovahkiin."

Balgruuf yelled insults and warnings about our army failing as he was dragged away. Godrael hoisted his axe over his shoulder and strapped it to his back. His hands came together slowly, his fingers toying with the wedding band on his index finger. I approached him slowly, knowing from experience what he would do if I startled him while he was still in battle mentality.

"Am I a fool?" He whispered, looking at the ground. Everyone was distracted from his words with each other, talking amongst themselves about the next move for the Stormcloaks. "If Ulfric really did spread out the army…There wouldn't be enough of us to hold down any retaliation."

I put a hand on his shoulder and brought him close, "Ulfric isn't a fool, Godrael. Balgruuf was just trying to get into your head. If he was smart enough to foresee our army failing, he would've known that refusing Ulfric would result in his city being taken."

Godrael nodded, a small smile of relief on his face, "Yeah. Right. Thanks, I guess I just need to be slapped back into reality every once in a while."

I smiled back, running my hand through his hair. With the stress of the war, the vein of gray had blossomed into a thick streak down the side of his head. He'd handled it well so far, but I knew it took its toll out on him. Whispered fears against the pillow about being re-captured or, worse, Ulfric or myself suffering the same fate despite his ever-watchful eye on the both of us. He worried over nothing, it seemed, but I knew that the nightmares and memories were a part of it.

"Come on," I said, putting my arm on his shoulders. "Let's go back to Windhelm and get more orders. There's still a war to fight."

Godrael inhaled and nodded, following me out of Dragonsreach and into the city. There were small fires all around the paths and houses, but he'd long since stopped reacting to things like that. He leaned his head against me and tapped his ring against my knuckle.

"Do you think this will end soon?" He asked in a quiet voice.

"The war? Yes. I think it will be over soon," I muttered back, pushing open the gates of the city. "Then we'll be able to settle down for a while. We'll hunt together and kill dragons."

"Did you…" He started. He took a deep breath. "Did you ever...see children in that vision?"

"Children?" I tilted my head to look at his face. He was looking at the ground. "Is there something you aren't telling me?"

Godrael laughed, "No. I meant, there are many orphans in Skyrim, and most of them have been displaced by the war. The least we could do is give one or…some…a home."

"How many were you thinking of exactly?" I chuckled, taking note of the word 'some'.

"I wasn't sure. It really depended on your answer," He said, toying with his ring.

"Hm," I thought for a moment. Godrael would make a good father, of course. He was loving and firm, and I imagine him giving an orphan a home would make him very happy. "After the war, when Elisif is out of power, then we'll go to an orphanage and find a child."

Godrael grinned and kiss the corner of my mouth, "You're a good man. I might just keep you."

**BREAK**

Godrael is a good father, of course. After the Stormcloaks took Solitude, Godrael purchased the house called Hjerim, which he'd done a quest for a couple of years beforehand. We ended up adopting one Nord child and one Orc child. Aeta was two when she came to us, but the Orc child had been an unnamed infant. Godrael and I agreed to call him Sten.

The children absolutely adore Godrael. I can tell that he loves them with his heart, and it saddens him more than anything to leave them behind when he's needed elsewhere, but he's determined that they won't live half of their lives not knowing him. Sten is five now, and Godrael's been teaching him how to shoot a bow as of late. Frodnar gave Aeta the bow that Godrael made him all those years ago, and she's been taking lessons with her brother. He's so good at teaching the both of them the skills they need to survive in Skyrim, I couldn't imagine what he'd been like now if I'd really voiced my discomfort at having children. I love them now, of course, and Godrael tells me that they love me as well.

"Do you have any regrets?" He asks, watching Aeta play keep-away with Sten's first lost tooth. "Any at all?"

"None," I answer, pulling him closer to me. His hair is dark, with a stripe of grey on the side. It hasn't grown with the stress of fatherhood, but, then again, I hadn't expected it to. "Do you?"

"Only one," I says. I tilt my head and look at him.

"What would that be?"

"Waiting for so long," He says, kissing my cheek.

I chuckle, "I suppose that could be one."

"Papa!" Sten shouts, running up to Godrael. Godrael sits up slowly in his chair.

"Yeah?"

"I lost a tooth!" He says proudly, holding out a long, fang-like tooth. It is obvious where it came from, since his bottom lip is strangely deflated on the left side.

Godrael takes the object held out to him carefully and inspects it, "So you did. You might go hide that under your pillow so the tooth wisp can come and give you a Septim or two."

Sten grins widely and takes the tooth back, hurrying up the steps to hide it under his pillow. Aeta runs after him, yelling down at us that she feels a loose tooth as well.

I nod solidly, watching Godrael smile lovingly after them, and I squeeze his hand. "I don't think I'll ever regret this."

**END**

**Last chapter. I hope you enjoyed!**


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